


took an oath (i’ll stick it out to the end)

by ratherbeyouthful



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Canon Divergence, Donna Tartt Appreciation Squad, Henry Is A Dumb Bitch, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mushrooms, Richard is a Dumb Bitch, that’s all you really need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27651622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbeyouthful/pseuds/ratherbeyouthful
Summary: They never thought he’d go through with it. They never thought he’d have a sight of success higher than they could see.~Alternatively: Henry proposes the mushroom plan to take care of Bunny. Nothing is alright, ever.
Relationships: Richard Papen/Henry Winter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	took an oath (i’ll stick it out to the end)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [antagonisticmagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/antagonisticmagpie/gifts).



> What it says on the tin, folks.
> 
> ~
> 
> Title from “Umbrella” by Rihanna. 
> 
> ~
> 
> Basically, this is a concept that I ran with for 200 words and then abandoned. Everything that follows those first few scenes is whatever my mind came up with. The ending is rushed and sloppy, but passable as a decent story. It’s not how I wanted it to turn out, so I may rewrite it in the future. For now, I just wanted to post it.

Richard watches Henry carefully as he proposes the mushroom plan. His thoughts whirl, and he stares at him overtop of the paper full of meticulous equations. The one Henry has given to him as if he’s the only bit of common sense in the world. As if he expects Richard’s common sense to apply to this plan. To support it. 

‘You did well,” Richard says quietly, fingers wrinkling the pages at the edges. “For what you know, you got farther than I expected you would.” He looks up at Henry, sees the dark eyes sincere behind the glasses, and feels his brow crease. “But I—Henry, surely you don’t mean to go through with this?”

“It’s the only idea I’ve got,” Henry says. He runs his hands over Richard’s, a slide that Richard caves to every time. Even now, the insanity of Henry’s plan hovering over his head, he leans into the touch. Henry looms from his perch on the desk, reaches down to pull Richard up slightly, to kiss him gently and chastely. He pulls away, and Richard settles back into his chair. Henry’s hands are still around his collar and his elbow. “Out of all of us, you’re the one I believe can do it.” 

And well, with those words, Richard has no choice but to try. 

~

There’s no way he can do it. He can’t do it and Henry is going to get himself killed and Richard will have to go to his funeral and know that he could have been free from the ground. It’s been a half hour and despite all the logic in the world he suspects Henry will go through with this uncertain plan anyway. Despite what Richard can give him to help. 

“Henry, I can’t,” Richard says, pushing paper and pencil away. The little yellow stick rolls across the desk, clicking at every new point of contact. Henry picks it up before it falls, rolls it between his fingers. “I just don’t think…It’s not possible for me to do. And I don’t know anyone who could, with the information we’re running off of.” Algebra hasn’t been hard for him, but there are so many unknown variables. He can give Henry an approximation that will be worlds away from an answer. He just hopes Henry doesn’t take into account the result he’s come up with. 

“Thank you for trying,” Henry says. Richard reaches out for him, gets off his chair and stands between his legs. Leans into his chest, tries to puzzle out the frenetic beat of his heart. Henry puts his arms around him, still holding onto the pencil. Richard stares at the conjunction between two walls, looking off to the side. He wonders what part of his room has caught Henry’s attention. 

“There’s so much that could go wrong,” Richard tells him. He doesn’t need to say the words, but they fall from his mouth anyways like snow. 

There’s a humanity to him in this moment, a certain something missing from him that makes him nearly touchable. Richard fists his hands in his shirt and doesn’t let go. 

“So you don’t think I can do it?” Henry asks. “Not without risking too much?” 

“You’re the one person who could do it if you tried,” Richard says, and hates the words although they’re true. “But I don’t want your attempt to take you away from me.” He knows that no emotional appeal will work with Henry. But he still needs to voice his thoughts anyway, just so Henry knows. Knows that Richard doesn’t want to lose him. 

He and Henry are something that has always been supposed to end. He knew that going into it, when he kissed Henry in his house weeks ago. They’re not boyfriends, and Richard isn’t sure he wants that. They don’t go on dates, or do anything out of the ordinary besides kissing and fucking. And the kissing’s good, the fucking’s  _ great _ , not the best Richard has ever had considering it’s  _ Henry _ , who hasn’t had a lot of experience, but the only kind he’s ever wanted more than once. There’s something to be said for trysts in their bedrooms, hands on Richard’s wrists and a sinfully hot mouth on his neck. There’s something to be said for Henry, and he’s lucky enough to know it. 

But sometimes they’ll talk, Henry flaunting his brilliant mind, his expertise and prowess. Richard will sit and listen, caught out of his depth, a half-formed fear that Henry will call him out on his eyes humming in the back of his mind like the droning of a microwave. And he ruminates the shelf-life of what he has, wonders how Henry will turn when it ends, if he himself will shy away. He has the most to lose, but he’s the one who sought what he gained. 

“We’ll find a way,” Henry says, and Richard nods before realizing just what he means. 

“Is this really what we’ve come to?” He asks. “Murdering Bunny?”

“It’s the only thing we have left. He brought on himself, and he’ll know it.” 

_ Hopefully not until it’s too late, _ Richard thinks, and lapses into silence. Henry’s arms do not feel like a prison, but maybe they should. 

~

Strange, to think that he values these days and what they bring. A mere microcosm of ordinary life, made more delicious by the secrecy of it all. 

~

Francis makes mushrooms in a stew one night while they’re all gathered together, and Richard’s heart leaps through to his throat. He catches Henry’s eye from across the table. The other doesn’t betray anything, glasses so impenetrable they may as well be opaque. 

Richard eats with small glances cast to Henry, to find Francis and Charles glancing at him curiously. Even Francis doesn’t know about the two of them. Camilla might, but the thought of her is so confusing to Richard he prefers not to dwell on it at all. 

They live. He doesn’t realize until after the dinner that he was worried about Henry poisoning him. 

~

The days inch by slowly. Richard finds it hard to sleep, hard to eat, hard to think. Henry watches him closely, every move catalogued somewhere inside that brilliant brain of his. Sunlight feels colorless, food tasteless. It happens at odd moments in the day, where his nerves ratchet and his heart scrambles through his rib cage, running its own version of a marathon. Francis and Camilla stare when he starts during conversations. 

Sometimes he finds himself in Henry’s room, looking around at the impersonal furniture and shaking. He half-thinks he’s getting sick again, and knows Henry thinks the same. The other puts up with his trembling hands, his cigarette-smoke smell, and sits him down at the table with water when Richard is so unfocused he can’t be bothered to look worried at Henry’s driving. 

Right now is one of those times. Henry’s got him at the table, water by his wrist, looking at him from across the room with an inscrutable expression. His glasses have slipped down his nose, one strand of hair hanging over his forehead. Richard doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, staring off into space, thinking about Henry accidentally killing himself. He doesn’t know what he’s been traumatizing himself over. 

“Are you ill?” Henry asks. Richard looks away, ponders it. No, not ill. Hopped up on Judy Poovey’s drugs, yes. But ill? Not physically. He doesn’t think so. “You’ve been like this for days.” 

“Guess I’m tired,” Richard says, knowing it’s not the answer. He’s constructed this lie of a life so meticulously, every detail socked away in his memory. And of course, like most things do, it’s about to come crashing down around him. 

Henry pushes off the sink and crosses the room to sit down next to him. “Drink some water,” he says, and feels mechanically at Richard’s forehead. While the pneumonia scare is behind them, he wonders if Henry will ever be so worried again, even for anyone other than himself. “Please,” Henry says, to soften it. He’s soft, sometimes, and if Richard were able to think straight he’d take time to appreciate it. 

He obliges, and picks up the glass in shaking hands, draining it quickly. The water goes down easily, tasteless like it should be. Henry moves the hand from his forehead to his cheek, and Richard catches his wrist with his hand. 

“Go to bed,” Henry says. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you need to sleep.”

“Can’t,” Richard complains, but lets Henry manhandle him out of the chair and down to his bedroom. He holds onto his shirt tightly. Henry sits him down on the bed, eases his grip from his shirttail, and prompts him to lay down. Richard stares up at him, catching Henry in his line of sight. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Henry asks. Richard thinks, catches at his wrist again. There’s something deeply wrong. Maybe the coke he got from Judy was messed up, laced with something. His whole head is out of control. Shouldn’t it have worn off by now? 

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Richard blurts. He tries to sit up, but Henry pushes him back down, eyebrows raised. “I don’t want you to do that.” 

“Would you rather go to jail?” Henry asks, pushing his glasses up his nose, moving his hair off his forehead. Richard hates himself for not having an immediate answer. Henry sees it on his face, runs a broad hand along his shoulders. “I think you need to get some rest.”

Richard shakes his head. He needs to snap out of this funk, to feel deeply again instead of superficially. “Kiss me,” he says, hand back around Henry’s wrist. “While you’re still here.” Henry bends and obliges him, pressing their lips firmly together. Richard twists a hand through his hair and pulls him down on top of him. 

The kiss feels like they’re running out of time. It always does. Richard has long since memorized the taste. 

~

Henry ends up fucking him into the mattress and Richard shakes afterward, curled into himself. Henry looks down on him and runs a hand through his hair, silent as a grave. The blankets cannot keep out a chill that exists only in his bones. Nothing is any better. 

~

Julian asks Henry, probably believing them out of earshot, if Richard is experiencing a mental breakdown. If he needs the contact information for a therapist. Everyone else hears too. Francis pulls him by the arm and out the door, and wraps him in a hug in the stairwell. Richard blinks over his shoulder and sees Camilla’s worried face. The arms around him are warm. 

He can’t make himself hug back, but he does lean into Francis. It’s the only thing he’s able to do. 

~

Judy doesn’t ask what he wants the pills for, doesn’t even tell him what they are. Maybe it’s something subtle, maybe it’s hardcore. He’ll just take what he’s given. She mutters a few instructions, tells him to get some water, and nearly pushes him out the door. The world has gone soft, and he stumbles his way to his dorm room. Pours himself a drink of something strong. 

Everything is good, for a while, and then it’s not. 

~

“Richard.”

Noise. Lots of it, gross and loud and earsplitting. 

“Richard, wake up.”

“Henry, I’m worried about him.” 

“He’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think you should do this.” 

Richard lets out a groan, and something heavy and distinctly warm clamps on his shoulder. 

“Three weeks. Then, to be pedantic, what’s done is done.” 

Richard buries his face in the warmth and tries to remember what it means to hold on.

~

“You’re okay,” he hears, coming to consciousness. He lets out a mumble, and then there’s the cool rim of a glass against his lips. Henry’s hands, his scratchy dorm room sheets. He opens his eyes and sees Henry and Francis hovering over him. Francis is pale, Henry unreadable. 

Richard mumbles something, words he doesn’t recognize. Francis worries the scarf around his neck, looking at Henry. They’re all looking at Henry. Richard will never stop looking at Henry. 

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Richard says, and the drugs struggle to take him under once more. 

“We’re still on this, are we?” Henry asks archly. 

“Never came off of it,” Richard says, and takes another drink. 

~ 

He gets better, which is to say, he copes. Something had unhinged in him these last few weeks at the thought of Henry being gone, going through with the plan. It closes up rather quickly, although Francis and Camilla still sometimes look at him strangely. 

Henry doesn’t say a word about mushrooms. Richard looks at him, looks into his eyes one day when Henry sits at the table, and takes satisfaction in knowing Henry’s moved on. 

~

It’s the little things that add up, despite the secrets. Henry kisses him awake one morning and Richard rolls them over, gets his mouth on Henry’s neck, grins against him, and says, “I’m glad you stayed.”

Henry doesn’t have to ask; he knows by the tune of Richard’s voice. So things are okay, then, and all the tension that was in him before is gone. “Me too,” he says, and kisses Richard again, and again, until they’re sleepy and sated and Richard squirms back down underneath the covers to fall back to sleep. Henry goes with him, hand in Richard’s hair, lips pecking his forehead, smile on his face. He’s lovely, he is, absolutely beautiful. 

Richard loves the days like this, a continuation of something that should have been over long ago, and sinks into the warmth of him, buries his head in Henry’s chest, revels in what he wasn’t supposed to have. 

~

He gets the call when he’s with Camilla. It’s from the hospital, Francis already there. He was the one who found them. 

Bunny’s not dead. He had the bowl with less poison. 

~ 

Camilla has her hand in Charles’s, and the other clutching Richard’s. Francis sits on the other side of Charles, watching Camilla tap her foot nervously. Richard makes eye contact with him from time to time, eyes worried. He still has those little glasses on the end of his nose. 

They wait, and wait. 

Richard is surprised how easily he can breathe. 

~

It’s hours before they know for sure, but there’s certainty in Richard’s bones. The nurse, a pretty thing if too exhausted, stands before them. So she’s the one that’s been chosen to bear the news. 

“It’s okay,” Richard tells her, before she begins to speak. She looks at him strangely, and Camilla clutches at his hand.

“You’re here for Edmund Corcoran and Henry Winter?” She asks as a formality. Francis nods, standing, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirtsleeves. “Well, I have good news, and bad news. Your friend, Mr. Corcoran, is expected to make a full recovery.”

“And the good news?” Charles mutters under his breath, and Francis coughs to disguise it. 

“Please,” Camilla says, and Richard thinks of how hard this must be for her. “May we see Henry? He hates to be alone in hospitals; he always comes with one of us for everything.” 

The nurse looks at her, pausing for a moment. She’s lovely but tired, and there’s a weight to her eyes that Richard knows how to place. 

“Mr. Winter passed away forty minutes ago,” the nurse says, and Francis sucks in a breath. Camilla grabs onto Charles’s hand, squeezes Richard’s tighter. “We were unable to revive him.” 

The world rushes over Richard, and he sits down heavily. He’d known. He’d always known, since the moment Henry asked him for the algebra. 

~

“Nothing is any good if you die,” Richard says to his empty room, one of Henry’s umbrellas still leaning against the inside of his door. “And you knew it, too.” 

The umbrella doesn’t answer back. 

~ 

Francis and Camilla check in on him from time to time. Charles stays in his dorm room for three days before deeming Richard a lost cause. He doesn’t take the umbrella with him, although Richard knows he wants to.

Class goes on. Hampden stays the same. Nowhere feels like enough, anymore. 

~

Bunny, apparently, gives things a rest. Richard doesn’t notice anymore, not really, but clearly Henry’s death has saved the rest of them. Another gold star by his name, one to accompany his heroics with Richard in the hippie’s warehouse. It can only be enough. 

~

“I thanked you for staying,” Richard says to a newly-filled grave. He has flowers in his hand from Henry’s garden, the one he so meticulously tended. “You said you were grateful you did.”

He has the umbrella; the sky’s greyness matches his own mood. He sits near the headstone, brushing his fingers over the name. He’d been invited to the funeral by Henry’s parents, nowhere near Hampden, all the way down in Mississippi. Camilla had given him time alone when he asked for it. 

“I miss you,” Richard says. There’s no answer, of course, no hand on his shoulder. “Miss what we had. But mostly I just miss you. Never thought I would. But I do.”

There’s more silence, something he can’t seem to get rid of these days. He continues, feeling like he’s run out of words. Henry seems to have taken them with him when he left. 

“I think you wanted it this way,” Richard says morosely. The whole world can never be filled again. Maybe that’s what Henry intended all along. “So I’ll let you go, eventually. If I can.”

~

There’s a patch of mushrooms just outside the cemetery gate. Richard destroys them with his foot before leaving. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed!


End file.
